I can't write a single thing without thinking I sound pretentious.
My car is a horrible substitute for you. Screaming at the stereo isn't satisfying in the least.
My legs hurt from soccer and I want to kill myself. Instead, I'll wash my face, have one (1) beer and watch Training Day.
Considering my options, I think I'm all right.
I have an appointment with my family doctor tomorrow to take a look at my knuckle.
Shite! CD Warehouse called this afternoon.